


Tell Me A Ghost Story

by rare_colours



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Robin-on-Ra's-violence, a bit of arterial blood on the walls, a few dead ninjas, ghost story, it's ok, it's ok he can take it, nobody is really dead, off-screen temporary character death, unbetaed we die like robins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27179563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rare_colours/pseuds/rare_colours
Summary: The older man is working quietly, diligently like clockwork, new coat of dirt spraying up on top of the pile every few seconds.And then there’s a clang.“Shit.”Tim wants to look down into the grave, but can’t make himself.He listens to the breaks and creaks as the coffin is forcibly opened, listens to Jason curse up a blue streak, until there is a heavy silence.“Hey Dickie?” There is a pause. “Yeah it’s empty."
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 10
Kudos: 153





	Tell Me A Ghost Story

Tim arrives while all the other Robins are already sitting around the dining room table. They are all huddled in amongst mountains of candy. While Halloween is a more or less safe holiday in Gotham (because no supervillain except the Joker would be caught out with the lunatics) Wayne manor gets absolutely _swamped_ with trick-or-treaters, no matter what year.

They have costumes on, easy to remove ones with their suits on underneath, because while the Joker is tucked safely away in Arkham… trouble seems to find them around this time of year.

Alfred has been bustling and organizing little packages of chocolates and candy, duly sorted for allergies and preferences, already having handed out a few for the early starters.

“All right,” Jason says with a stony face. Pulls on his beer bottle, almost emptying it in a single gulp. “My turn.”

Tim sits down quietly, and listens.

“It happened the first time Bruce took me to one of his dog and pony shows.” He chuckles mirthlessly, wiping his face down, staring at the condensation on the beer bottle. “Can you imagine the shit I got? Second ‘son’ of Bruce Wayne, and it’s not even a circus brat, but a fucking street urchin this time. From the worst part of town!” He looks up at them, gives them a wry smile. “I hated the whole goddamn thing, but Bruce told me it was vital I do this, so I did. Hell, I thought maybe I could change their minds! At first. I mean I was optimistic, but not crazy. God, the shit I got!” He picks on the label of the bottle, stops. Puts it down.

“So anyway. The grownups are assholes. They tear into me _oh so politely_ under the pretense of feeling sorry for me. But I have to bear it. So I do. And then I get to slip away, maybe eat a few sweets, try the buffet. Meet a few kids my age as Bruce instructed.”

Dick’s faint “oh no” is all they need to hear, to know.

“Yeah. It was an absolute _disaster_. If I ate anything, I was that ‘poor starving street rat!’ And the kids weren’t gentler. At least them I could intimidate with not giving a shit, or a smirk that _said_ things about dark alleyways that sent them running back to mummy. Well. Except for one.”

Jason drinks the rest of his beer, slams the bottle down, sweating condensation and all on a grinning pumpkin-shaped coaster.

“There was this kid. Creepy little shit, I tell you. Like… have you seen these tiny little kids in those Japanese horror movies, skin like bone china, huge blue eyes, lips like fucking rose petals, _I shit you not_. He was like a pretty little doll, all fine black hair and the biggest, roundest blue eyes I have ever seen, dressed up like a tiny little penguin… and he kept _staring_ at me _all night long_. I don’t think he ever took his eyes off of me.”

“Any time I saw him, he was just standing there, _staring_ at me with those big eyes of his, unblinking, unmoving. Scared the shit outta me, swear to god. And any time I looked away, he would disappear and reappear in a different part of the ballroom. Still, always so goodamn _still_. Always just _staring_ at me, like his eyes could swallow me _whole_. Fucking creepy.”

He reaches for another beer, opens it, takes another gulp.

“So anyway. I’m creeped out. I swear, he put me on the fucking edge better than all those damn richie riches. So I made a plan. I would sneak outside the ballroom door, hide just behind the doorway. It was some ornate, carved shit with the big door that can never be fully opened, so it gave the _perfect_ cranny to hide in. So I thought I’d hide, let him come out. See if the little shit is trying to pick a fight.”

Jason looks around at them, and they are all staring back at him mutely. Except for Tim, who knows where this is going.

“So did he?” Tim prompts him gently.

“Well, he came out. Just like clockwork. Tripped over his own little feet in his haste, had to grab him before he went sprawling all-over the floor and got me into trouble. Can you imagine? Violent, adopted street-urchin trips/beats up baby elite. Vicky Vale would have had a field day with it.”

The groans this time all around the table are heartfelt.

“Yeah anyway,” Jason clears his throat. “I push him up against the wall. There’s still enough light yet to see the kid’s breathing. Nope, no creepy ghost, just a creepy little kiddo. So I think… well, might as well scare the piss out of him, make sure he tells the others not to mess with me either, yeah?” he chuckles and clears his throat. “Asked him what the fuck he wanted from me. Wanna know what he said?”

Tim tries hard not to melt into the woodwork.

The others shake their heads.

Jason goes on. “Kid stutters around a bit, says nothing but gasp for breath like a landed fish… and then…”

“And then what?!” Steph yells, eyes huge as saucers.

“And then the kid asks me out!”

There’s a roar of laughter all over the table. Even Damian has to tamp down a smirk.

“I shit you not, kid says ‘I like you, go out with me’”. Jason says between guffaws. “So I tell him I don’t date toddlers. I swear he looked seven, at best. Pipsqueak gets offended, tells me he is _eleven_. Ha! I mean sure, he wasn’t lying, I could tell, but he sure didn’t look to be in the double digits.”

Tim is offended. Not everybody is a born giant!

But Jason goes on.

“So anyway. I am standing there, holding up this little shit, gaping at him like _I’m_ the damn fish. Only thing I could come up with is ‘ _you know people in relationships kiss, don’t you?_ ’ And he goes ‘ _of_ course _I do know that, I'm not a baby, thank you very much!’_ Holy shit, but the little pipsqueak had spunk! So next thing I know I’m bending down and laying one on him.” Jason drinks again then, clears his throat. Doesn’t look up at their stunned faces.

“Yeah so. At that worst possible moment, Brucie is calling for me, and we are running off to stop a bank robbery. Kid was staring up at me with those big blues of his. Except there wasn’t a sliver of blue in those eyes, he was all pupil. Had to yank my clothes out of his hands, losing a button in the process! Not my proudest moment, I swear. Last I saw of the pipsqueak, he was trying to tell me who he was, where he lived.” Jason puts his bottle down, picks at the label again. “Talk about missed opportunities,” he quietly adds.

Tim wants to say something, but can’t. He stares at Jason’s strong fingers as he mangles the label, pulling off little strips and ribbons as he thinks back.

He was too excited to see his hero in the flesh, and he miscalculated. He didn’t know he frightened Jason, but could see the boy was very stressed. He tried to run interference, pulling up days old hurts, inciting fights among the kids so they would leave Jason alone. He didn’t count on being spotted. And he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. And for the record, it was “You are amazing and I want to go out with you!” And the kiss was _amazing_ , too.

“So,” Jason says. “Dickie. What’s your story?”

“But this wasn’t a ghost story!” Steph complains loudly, and Jason shakes his head.

“Yeah it was. And now it’s Dickie’s turn.”

Dick looks unhappy to be called out. He just looks unhappy in general today.

“I saw _him_ last night in the cave. He was sitting at his station, working on the computer, inputting cases, like nothing happened. They are still in there. The cases, I mean. I didn’t dream it.”

There is a heavy silence.

“Shit,” Jason says and drinks again.

“Are we absolutely sure he is dead?” Damian asks, and stares at Jason. “I mean… there _is_ a precedence.”

They all look at each other over the mountain of candy in silence. In discomfort.

“He would tell us if he took a dip in the Pit.” Dick insists.

“Doubtful.” Damian fires back. “He is one of the most secretive of us all.”

Dick sighs, his black gauntlets clench over the table. He stares at the black cape laid out next to him, waiting for tonight’s patrol.

“So what do we do?”

Jason clears his throat. “We could…”

“No.”

“C’mon, Dickie. It’s the only way to know. Or do you want for him what happened to me?”

Dick blanches.

“Fine. We dig up the coffin. If it’s empty… we’ll know.”

“Awesome.” Jason finishes his second beer, puts it with the rest of their empty ones. “I call dibs.”

They all stare at him, open-mouthed.

“What?”

Dick shakes his head. “Didn’t think you’d be so involved in this.”

“Digging up the coffin of a family member I have previously tried to kill, on Halloween?” Jason gives them all a wry smile. “At least this time I’m not trying to dig myself out. It’ll be a lark. Feel free to join me if you want.”

He leaves them there, huddled around the table, morose, surrounded by mountains of brightly wrapped candy. Tim stares at the rest of them, considering. None of them move to join the second Robin.

***

When Tim sticks his head out from behind a gravestone, Jason’s pile of dirt has reached the bottom of Here Lies. The older man is working quietly, diligently like clockwork, new coat of dirt spraying up on top of the pile every few seconds.

And then there’s a clang.

“Shit.”

Tim wants to look down into the grave, but can’t make himself.

He listens to the breaks and creaks as the coffin is forcibly opened, listens to Jason curse up a blue streak, until there is a heavy silence.

“Hey Dickie?” There is a pause. “Yeah it’s empty. Untouched, like mine was. Brand spanking new. Get them all together. Time to shake down the undead bastard. I hope the Demon Brat’s info is up to date.”

***

Tim is riding along with his family in the Batplane. Isn’t sure how much time has passed since the big reveal. Since they left Alfred to fend for himself on Halloween. They are all grim. Dick has never looked so much like Bruce in the batsuit he looks right now.

Tim shivers. Keeps shivering more and more as the cold of the plane seeps into his armor. Seeps into his very bones.

He doesn’t want to bother the others, he can stand a little cold, even if it chills him to his core the faster they go. He knows a crack is not possible, and yet it feels like only Tim’s place is so cold. It’s probably shock settling in.

He wraps himself in a blanket, ignoring the way Damian stares at him funny. He is probably full of fire and brimstone and never gets cold, anyway. Tim turns away and stares out the window.

They are almost there, he can tell.

***

The oppressive heat of the desert around Ra’s current hideyhole doesn’t touch him. Tim worries it might compromise him, but his family starts in before he can voice his concerns. He catches a disbelieving side-eye from Damian when he folds the blanket (he wasn’t raised in a barn, nor in a tube, thank you very much), but he has no time to ponder it as they all move in as one.

The ninjas don’t stand a chance. They are a united front. Nobody bats an eye when Hood puts bullets between a few eyes, or when Damian opens arteries, leaving bright red streaks against the cave walls. They have bigger concerns.

They find Ra’s in his throne chamber, leaning over a chess set, Bruce bound on a chair right across from him.

Alive.

Well.

They both look up at the same time as the whole team clambers in.

“Bruce!” they all yell in unison. Because he is alive.

Tim would note the shadows the torches make as they flicker and bend against the walls, mounted in wrought iron and carved stone, seemingly reaching for them, for Tim, but he is cold.

So, so, _so_ cold.

He shivers. His whole body is wracked with it, teeth chattering so loud he can’t understand why nobody but Bruce pays him any mind.

Because Bruce is staring right at him. At Tim. Staring at him white-faced and slack jawed, like he saw a _ghost_.

“Tim.” He says, and his voice breaks. Tears glide down his cheeks, big, ugly, manly tears.

Tim wants to run over, to hug him, to untie him, to… something, but Ra’s and his bodyguards are facing off against his brothers and sisters, and he can’t.

So he joins the fray himself, making short work of the bodyguards, cornering Ra’s against a wall. Well, Dick has the undead windbag against the wall, Tim is shivering again, eyes drawn towards a bundle of bandages on a raised stone platform, reminiscent of an altar.

He can’t look away. He can’t move anywhere but closer. He is in a gravitational pull, en-route towards a black hole. He tries to look back, to see if anybody sees what he sees, but only Bruce and Damian are looking. The girls are tying Ra’s up, Steph going overboard “but he can take it!”, while the boys are undoing Bruce’s bindings, who instead of raining praises on them, watches Tim like… Tim can’t put it into words.

“Father…” Tim hears Damian whisper, a carrying kind of susurrus that stops the cacophony of voices.

“I see him, son,” Bruce replies, and Tim would like to go back and ask, but it is so cold, and it’s like fighting against a brick wall.

So he lets himself be pulled forward, toward what appears to be a mummy, or a mummified cadaver perhaps, or a new mummy? Burn victim?

The closer he gets, the more he sees.

Step after slow step he moves closer, notices more details.

It’s not actually a dead body. He can see its chest moving.

It’s a young man, weight and build putting him between late teens and early twenties.

Fit.

Black haired, as a few strands peek out of the bindings.

When he reaches the stone slab, Tim reaches over to grab a fistful of the bindings. He looks back, but they are all looking at him. Watching him mutely. Nobody is stopping him.

So he yanks the loose wraps of soft linen down to reveal…

_“No.”_

He pulls at the bindings around the body’s stomach to reveal miles of unmarred skin.

He was pierced there. Bleeding out. Dying.

He remembers now.

“You put me in the pit!” he whips around, pointing an accusing finger in Ra’s direction, as far as the invisible wall would let him. It’s not much.

It’s pulling him _into_ his body, but he _hesitates_.

“But your mind did not come back with it.” Ra’s tells him. Tim is sure he would be billowing his robes and spreading his hands, the dramatic bastard, but he can’t move an inch.

“Because his ghost was haunting the Manor.” Damian supplies.

Tim can see Dick’s mouth turn down, eyes glinting wetly in the torchlight.

He reaches out to touch his own face, hesitates.

“Go on.” Bruce tells him gently, but Tim…

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“We can ask Zatanna. Constantine.” Bruce offers.

Tim would rather not. He is afraid, and so, so cold.

But he can’t. His fingers are _drawn_ to his chest, like the gravitational pull got enough of his dillydallying, and his fingers go in and in and _in_.

***

He wakes up chilled, ice cold.

But he is being hugged, by many people it feels, and they are warm, so so _warm_.

And then he gets warmer.

He is on the stone slab, wrapped in the linens… back inside his body. Where he belongs. He is cradled in Bruce’s arms, Dick almost up on the slab himself as he hugs them both, and there are arms of all colors and strengths around them.

He closes his eyes and sleeps.

***

He wakes up in his own bed, wearing his own pajamas, tucked in and _warm_.

Jason’s sitting in the chair beside him, dozing, socked feet up on the bed, legs crossed at the ankles. He looks strangely vulnerable like this. Fragile.

Tim isn’t sure what tips the older man off, but his eyes are open the next time Tim looks at his face. Winces at being caught staring.

“You really are a creepy little shit.” Jason tells him in lieu of nothing.

Tim still feels shaken and fragile himself. That’s the only reason he can think of why he answers with “well, you still kissed me when I was a little kid!”

“Ha!” Jason smiles at him, gentle. Like he doesn’t hate Tim’s guts anymore.

Maybe he doesn’t. Probably hasn’t in a while. One way to find out, right?

“You know, you never broke up with me. So technically we are still dating.”

There’s a maddening smirk dancing at the corner of Jason’s lips.

“Is that so?”

Tim wants to kiss it off of him.

So he clambers out of his bed, while Jason looks alarmed, arms going around Tim’s middle when he lands in the older boy’s lap.

“Whoa-” he says, but the rest is swallowed by Tim's mouth, who is pretty sure he didn’t misjudge the situation when he is pulled in tighter.

It’s perfectly warm in Jason’s embrace.

He feels happy and safe.

Tomorrow, they will talk. He will have to make a grueling call to Zachary Zatara. He is dreading it already, but he has to make absolutely _sure_ he is not going Casper again. And figure out why he is not a raging Hulk, like Jason was.

But tonight, or this very early morning, (as he sees dawn slowly breaking over Gotham through his window) he is going to stay warm, enveloped in the arms of his first crush.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so just in case there's a need: Tim in the beginning is unaware of being a ghost. Nobody at the table sees or hears him.
> 
> He is spotted once by Dick in the cave, and on the plane later by Damian.
> 
> He thinks the grave Jason digs up is Bruce's, because when Tim got stabbed (though didn't die in canon), Bruce was dead. The name on the gravestone is hidden by the strategically placed pile of dirt.
> 
> He is cold on the plane and later on, because he is getting closer to his body and feels more and more like a vulnerable spirit outside of his live meat puppet. And when in a close vicinity of his body, he is dragged back in. Because souls are supposed to be inside the squishy human bits, unless you are magical.


End file.
